


Say You Were Made To Be Mine

by anaeifly



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Has Heaven Issues, First Kiss, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Post-Scene: Church in London 1941 (Good Omens), Second Kiss, The Sofa of Sin (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-02-23 04:29:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23905798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anaeifly/pseuds/anaeifly
Summary: After a demon waltzes (metaphorically speaking) into a church to save an angel and his books, it’s practically required for said demon and angel to get drunk. They end up kissing, and many things are left unsaid. After the apocalypse doesn’t happen, Aziraphale decides it’s time to say them.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 124
Collections: Fluffy Omens, Shinbi34's Recommendations





	1. First Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello! So I have absolutely no excuse for this, I wrote it a while ago but held off on publishing it because there’s going to be more. But then I figured, what the hell, there’s enough to at least get started. I put the rating as M for now, but in chapter three things might get heated. For now, enjoy the feels! And forgive me for getting myself into a WIP. 🤦🏻♀️

_London, 1941_

What a damn night.

It was well after midnight on the night of Aziraphale’s detour into espionage, and Aziraphale was drunk enough to be seriously curious about whether Crowley’s lips were as soft as they looked. (To be perfectly honest, it was a question he had considered numerous times before while sober, but to allow himself to dwell on it as he was currently doing required copious amounts of alcohol. But that was rather beside the point, in Aziraphale’s opinion.)

Which wasn’t exactly _new_ for him; he had long ago accepted that he was in love with Crowley, and up until tonight he had assumed that nothing would ever come of it because Crowley was a demon, after all, and demons couldn’t love. And yet...

“What?” Crowley asked, a tad defensively. “Do I have something on my face?”

Aziraphale started. He hadn’t exactly realized he’d been staring. (He’d been thinking about doing it, but he couldn’t remember _actually_ doing it.) He swallowed, which felt like a frankly herculean feat, and slowly shook his head, avoiding Crowley’s gaze, reliving for what felt like the millionth time the moment Crowley had handed him his books. His books, which logically did not need to be saved, but had been anyway. By Crowley. 

“No.” He swiveled in his chair and located the bottle of scotch they’d been drinking from. “More?” It was a rather poor effort at staving off further questions, but it was the only thing to come to mind. 

Thankfully, it seemed to work. Crowley nodded, grabbing his glass from the coffee table and holding it out in Aziraphale’s general direction. “Fuck yes.”

For some reason, in his muddled state Aziraphale decided that it would be a better idea to lean over to pour Crowley’s scotch rather than taking the glass, filling it, and handing it back. Unsurprisingly, this tactic did not go well, and the majority of the scotch ended up, rather inexplicably (though not altogether unexpectedly), on Crowley’s chest. 

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale found himself saying, at the same moment that Crowley yelped “ _Fuck_!” He jumped out of his chair, putting the bottle down, and quickly miracled a hand towel—or meant to. What he actually ended up miracling was a large and rather fluffy bath towel, but it would do the job just fine. 

He leaned over Crowley, rubbing at the large wet spot on his chest and trying very hard to not actually _look_ at him. Crowley, for his part, was rather conspicuously silent. 

When Aziraphale was finally satisfied that Crowley’s front was as dry as it was likely to get without the help of a miracle, he finally looked up—and was startled to find himself almost nose to nose with Crowley, whose sunglasses had slid down his nose a bit at some point and who was currently staring at Aziraphale as if he were the most fascinating creature in the universe. Aziraphale felt his face flush.

“Ah—all b-better,” he stammered, surprised and rather wrongfooted by the intensity of Crowley’s gaze. His gaze slipped down quickly to Crowley’s lips, quite without his permission, and back up even quicker, hoping Crowley hadn’t noticed. 

Judging by the slight upward twitch of his mouth, however, Crowley had _absolutely_ noticed. Aziraphale swallowed, hard, and made to straighten up before he had a chance to do anything stupid, thinking he should probably sober up—and that was when the whole thing went a bit...well, pear-shaped.

Aziraphale hadn’t realized, until he went to stand, that he had put his hand on Crowley’s thigh, or that Crowley’s hand, in turn, had wrapped lightly around Aziraphale’s wrist. When he tried to stand, however, these things became impossible _not_ to notice.

Aziraphale tried to move his hand to help himself balance, and Crowley’s hand (involuntarily, it seemed) tightened around Aziraphale’s wrist in response, and so the end result of this process, instead of being Aziraphale standing and Crowley sitting, was Crowley sitting and Aziraphale sitting sideways in his lap. 

Aziraphale let out a slight huff of surprise as his bottom made impact with Crowley’s lap. He was only vaguely aware of Crowley’s arm going around him to prevent his side from colliding with the arm of the couch; he was a bit (all right, a _lot_ ) more focused on the sudden _nearness_ of Crowley. He could feel their chests pressed together, could feel the angles of Crowley’s hipbones underneath him. He wondered, briefly, why he couldn’t feel Crowley’s breath ghosting over his throat, until he realized that Crowley wasn’t actually breathing. He swallowed, hard. 

Crowley’s eyes swept over Aziraphale’s face, utterly unreadable. He had pushed his glasses back up, and Aziraphale could only just see the movement of his eyes behind them. 

Without thinking, Aziraphale leaned forward and plucked the glasses off of Crowley’s face. He felt Crowley stiffen, his hand (which, Aziraphale just now noticed, had been rubbing gentle circles on the small of his back) freezing in place, flat against Aziraphale’s back. Aziraphale didn’t look at him until he had folded the glasses and set them on the back of the couch. When he did turn back to Crowley, he found the demon’s eyes locked onto his. 

“You all right, angel?” Crowley’s voice was low and soft and a little...wary? 

Aziraphale opened his mouth to reply and suddenly let out a rather unsteady, shuddering breath. Crowley raised an eyebrow. “I,” Aziraphale started, but he couldn’t for the life of him think how to continue, because now that he had started looking at Crowley’s eyes he couldn’t seem to make himself _stop_ , which didn’t leave much room for other thoughts. Ah, well. At least it was keeping him from staring at Crowley’s lips.

Crowley couldn’t seem to stop looking at him either. His eyebrow was still raised, and he hadn’t moved his eyes at all, although as Aziraphale watched, Crowley’s gaze slid down to his lips and back, quickly enough that it wouldn’t even have been noticeable if they hadn’t been so close together. Aziraphale felt his pulse quicken. 

He nodded, realizing belatedly that he had never answered Crowley’s question. Crowley bit his lip, seeming uncertain for some reason, and then his eyes seemed to harden slightly, and before Aziraphale could even begin to process any of this, Crowley’s lips were pressed firmly but gently against his own.

Aziraphale was, somehow, not sure how to react. He knew his response _should_ be an unthinking pleasure—he had imagined this and hoped for it for longer than he would have cared to admit, and it felt better than he had ever expected. It was as if someone had struck a match within his chest, making warmth radiate throughout his body and into the very core of him, and he could not think of anything to do except move his lips against Crowley’s in response. He _was_ pleased, truly, but somewhere in the back of his mind there was panic setting in, and it took about a minute (one sweet, wonderful, _blissful_ minute of the most perfect happiness Aziraphale had ever experienced) for Aziraphale to really notice and understand it.

Aziraphale’s reaction, once his brain had fully caught up, was instantaneous and admittedly quite unfortunate. He pulled away abruptly, trying to catch his breath, and instinctively put one hand on Crowley’s chest to give himself more leverage to put some space between them. It hurt to do, and it hurt even more to see the flash of pain that flickered across Crowley’s face, there and gone so quickly he could have almost convinced himself he’d imagined it, except he wasn’t _quite_ that drunk. 

Aziraphale looked away, unable now to meet Crowley’s eyes at all. He carefully pushed himself off of Crowley and, before he could think too much about it, sat down on the couch about a foot away from him. He could feel Crowley watching him, and it took nearly all his strength to keep himself from leaning into him the way his whole body was begging him to. 

Instead he stared at his own hands, at a loss for anything else to do. “I think you should probably go now,” he heard himself say. He felt Crowley’s gaze raking over him as if it were a touch, a light caress all down his body, lingering on his face, and tried very hard to control his expression. He had no idea to what degree he was succeeding (if any, really), but it was the thought that counted, wasn’t it?

“Fair enough.” Crowley’s voice was barely loud enough to be audible, and that, of all things, was what made Aziraphale finally look at him again. At some point Crowley had returned his glasses to his face, and once again Aziraphale could not make heads or tails of his expression. It was both a relief and a source of profound misery, and...and Aziraphale could no longer do this drunk. He was surprised he’d gotten this far, to be perfectly honest. 

He closed his eyes, forcing the alcohol out of his system, and when he opened them again he found Crowley standing in front of the couch, his back to Aziraphale, trying to extract his hat from underneath Aziraphale’s chair. Aziraphale could no more keep his gaze away from him than he could have ripped his own wings from his back, and when Crowley finally straightened and turned to him again, he felt a bit of a jolt because Crowley’s glasses had slipped down his nose just a smidge, and Aziraphale could see his lovely, lovely eyes again, and God help him, he thought they might actually be his undoing. He quite acutely felt his heart clench in his chest. 

Crowley stared at him, seemingly no more capable than Aziraphale of saying or doing anything. After an endless moment, he shifted his gaze away to put the hat back on his head, but shifted it back to Aziraphale almost immediately. “Well,” he said, finally. Aziraphale could not for the life of him think how to respond. “I’ll be off then, I suppose.” His face was entirely, carefully expressionless. 

Aziraphale nodded, trying his absolute best to convince his traitorous heart that this was fine—the best course of action for the both of them, even—but he couldn’t quite manage it, not completely at least, and so just as Crowley nodded and turned to go, Aziraphale reached out and grabbed his hand, making Crowley’s head whip back around to stare at him again. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale started. He paused, not entirely sure where he intended to go with this. “I l—” No, no, that was wrong, he couldn’t do that, not now. He took a deep breath before starting over. “Be careful,” he said, after a long pause that he was a little surprised Crowley had waited though. _Stay with me, stay with me, please. Almost 80 years I had to try to be me without you, I can’t go back to that. Don’t make me._ “Stay safe. Please.” 

Something—something that Aziraphale would be hard-pressed to describe if asked, but undeniably _something_ nonetheless—softened in Crowley’s gaze at that. “‘Course I will,” he replied, voice barely above a murmur. He smiled. “I always do, you know that. Silly angel.” His voice was so soft, so light, Aziraphale knew he had been forgiven, even if he didn’t deserve it, even though Crowley couldn’t possibly know the true extent of what he was forgiving. Aziraphale felt his lips twitch upward just slightly despite himself. 

Before he could truly begin to process any of this, however, Crowley quickly muttered, “Later, then, angel,” and Aziraphale truly thought that was the end of it, except then Crowley lifted Aziraphale’s hand and brushed his lips over his knuckles, making him shiver, and quite suddenly he knew for certain that he had concealed absolutely nothing tonight, nothing at all, but Crowley would never expose him, never act without Aziraphale’s explicit permission, regardless of what his own feelings might be, and _fuck_ if that didn’t make things about a million times worse. 

Why did _knowing_ have to be so absurdly painful?


	2. Second Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it matters to anyone, this chapter is called Second Kiss because I'd originally started writing in response to the Flufftober prompt 'second kiss'. Anyway, I'm planning to have one more chapter after this, but I'm thinking it probably won't up till next Friday/Saturday. That'll have some angst in it again, though not too much, and most likely some smut, so I'll probably be updating the tags and the rating then too. But this chapter is pure light, sweet fluff, so enjoy!

_London, the first day of the rest of their lives, late afternoon_

Crowley leaned back on Aziraphale’s couch, shooting him an almost challenging look. “Armageddidn’t.” Aziraphale rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Crowley’s lips twitched. He raised an eyebrow. “Apocaoops.”

Aziraphale, who had been taking a sip of wine, promptly choked on it. After performing a quick miracle to remove the wine from his shirt, he looked up to meet Crowley’s gaze, shaking his head. “Good _lord_ , Crowley. That is horrible.” Even as he said it, however, he couldn’t suppress a slight giggle. Probably because of the wine. (Well. Partly because of the wine.)

Crowley’s tiny smile widened into a full grin. “Then why are you laughing?” he asked, voice light and teasing and so _happy_ Aziraphale almost couldn’t stand it. 

Aziraphale pressed his lips together. “I am _not_.”

It was Crowley’s turn to roll his eyes then. “Mmmhmmm,” he muttered, staring at Aziraphale. He’d taken off his glasses almost as soon as they had arrived at the bookshop after lunch; Aziraphale wasn’t sure why, exactly, but he was infinitely grateful for it. Crowley’s eyes were full of warmth and a contentment that Aziraphale couldn’t recall ever seeing on him before, and he had been having trouble not simply spending the whole afternoon gazing into Crowley’s eyes. 

Aziraphale shuffled closer to Crowley, unable to help himself, particularly when Crowley smiled at him again. He stopped when they were so close together that their thighs were touching, and dropped his head onto Crowley’s shoulder. He sighed happily when Crowley’s arm, which had been resting on the back of the couch, slipped down to curl around his shoulders. Before he could start overthinking it, he reached up to grab Crowley’s hand and pressed gentle kisses to the tips of each one of his fingers.

When Aziraphale finished, he turned a little to rest his head on Crowley’s shoulder again, but this time he kept his face angled towards Crowley’s in order to observe his reactions. Very carefully, he tilted his head just so and pressed a soft kiss to Crowley’s throat, just under his jaw—and Crowley _shivered_.

Thrilled by this response, Aziraphale straightened a little, vividly aware of the way his chest dragged against Crowley’s side as he did so, and leaned in to kiss Crowley the way he had been yearning to since he’d left Aziraphale’s bookshop in 1941.

Crowley made an odd choking sound against Aziraphale’s lips. Aziraphale started to pull back, faintly concerned, but before he could really go anywhere Crowley sat up a bit and turned his body more fully towards Aziraphale’s with an unexpected urgency, his hands finding Aziraphale’s waist and pulling him closer, and finally, _finally_ kissed him back. 

Aziraphale moaned helplessly as Crowley’s tongue traced the seam of his closed lips, and nearly discorporated on the spot when Crowley then took the opportunity to slip it between them, running it lightly over the roof of his mouth. Aziraphale shivered at the sensation and, entirely on instinct, put his arms around Crowley’s neck to let his fingers tangle in the short hairs at the nape. 

He was a bit shocked when, apparently in response, Crowley pulled away from him with a deep groan. “ _Satan_ , angel,” he murmured appreciatively as Aziraphale experimentally slid his fingers up more, increasing the pressure of his fingers. Aziraphale smiled, perhaps just a bit smugly, and pulled Crowley’s head closer to kiss him again, because now that he had started kissing him properly, he had quickly come to the conclusion that he never, _ever_ wanted to stop.

Crowley let out a low growl, giving Aziraphale only a split second’s warning before he was abruptly being pushed downwards, Crowley’s hand reaching up to cradle the back of Aziraphale’s head to keep it from hitting the arm of the couch as they went down. He managed to keep his lips securely attached to Aziraphale’s the whole time, even when he stretched out to settle himself over Aziraphale’s supine body, and Aziraphale couldn’t quite keep a faint whine back. 

Crowley released Aziraphale’s mouth a moment later and moved down a bit to kiss down his neck. Aziraphale gasped at the new, shockingly pleasurable sensation, squirming slightly, and was fairly certain he heard Crowley chuckle above him. Unable to form any actual verbal protest at this point, Aziraphale huffed in indignation and grabbed Crowley’s chin to pull his face back up for another kiss. 

Crowley came very willingly, giving Aziraphale a smile before dipping his head down and dropping a feather-light kiss on the tip of his nose. Aziraphale blushed as Crowley drew his head back a little. He opened his mouth to say...well, God only knew what, really, but before he could get a single word out, Crowley froze above him. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Crowley blurted out. Aziraphale raised his eyebrows. Crowley shook his head. “Just—angel, sober up, please.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Sorry this took me so much longer than I expected, turns out I’m just a freaking mess lol. Anyway. There was originally going to be smut in this at the end, but when I actually wrote this whole chapter out it didn’t seem like it would fit, so...sorry. Hope you like it anyway. And happy show anniversary!! ~ana

“There’s something I need to tell you, before we do anything else.” Crowley barely recognized his own voice. 

Aziraphale inclined his head. “Of course, darling.” 

Crowley felt his heart give a little jolt at the endearment, but he couldn’t lose focus now. “Right. Well. Uh, the last time we did this—“

Aziraphale winced. “I should never have pushed you away like that. I’m so sorry.”

Crowley shook his head. “That’s not—“ He paused, trying to sort out how best to articulate this. He started over. “No, you—you were right, it was too dangerous for us to be together then. It was better bthat way.”

Aziraphale tilted his head slightly. “It isn’t anymore, though. Is it?” His tone was cautious, his expression utterly unreadable. 

Crowley swallowed. The temptation to skip this part, to simply tell Aziraphale it was something they could talk about later and fall back into kissing him, was so strong he could practically feel it. “No, it’s not,” he forced out. “But that’s not...” He huffed out a frustrated sigh, unable to look at Aziraphale but still feeling his expectant gaze on him. He made himself look up to meet Aziraphale’s eyes. “Do you...remember me? From Before, I mean.”

A number of emotions flitted across Aziraphale’s face, too quickly for Crowley to catalog any of them. “Well...yes,” he replied after a moment, his eyes briefly dropping down to his hands and then back. “But I only met you, if you can call it that, one time. During...” He trailed off, biting his lip. 

“During the battle, yeah,” Crowley finished. Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “You caught up to me, and you had a sword and I didn’t, and you let me go. Practically  made me go, actually.” He smiled a little at the memory. 

Aziraphale stared at him, cheeks faintly flushed, his mouth hanging open just a bit. “I had no idea you remembered that.”

Crowley shrugged, feeling slightly uncomfortable all of a sudden. “I didn’t,” he mumbled, holding onto Aziraphale’s gaze with some difficulty. “Not until earlier today. I guess...being up there triggered something? I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter either way. That’s not the point.”

“What is, then?” Aziraphale’s voice was impossibly patient. 

Crowley cleared his throat. “That... well, it was the first time you met me. But it wasn’t the first time I met you.” The memory was almost overwhelming, now that it had come back to him. “I first met you the day She created you, before She gave you a life force or a personality or any of that. I was Raphael’s assistant; we had just finished making Alpha Centauri and were taking a break when She called me over to Her. She called me Crowley, and when I asked why, She showed me...” He paused, hyperaware of Aziraphale’s eyes on him still. “Well. She showed me—you. Us. What I would feel for you.” His voice turned mildly bitter. “She also told me that I would Fall. I didn’t understand then, not fully—not until the battle. And then I forgot about all of it until this morning, and I think I finally get it.” He reached out to take Aziraphale’s hand. “I had to Fall, because I love you more than I ever loved Her. So much more. And I was willing to Fall just for the chance to be with you, in any way, even before I knew what romantic love  _was_.”

Aziraphale’s eyes filled as Crowley finished speaking, and Crowley felt like someone was squeezing his heart. Fuck, fuck, fuck. “ _ Crowley _ ,” Aziraphale breathed. 

“I had to tell you, angel,” Crowley said, aware that his tone was rapidly approaching pleading and unable to care. “I know you don’t—and that’s fine, it doesn’t matter, I always knew it might be like that, but it wouldn’t have been fair if I didn’t tell you.”

Aziraphale’s brow furrowed. “What?” 

Crowley frowned, confused. “What?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “You said I don’t—“ He waved his hand vaguely. “I don’t understand. I don’t  _what_ ?” 

Crowley felt his face flush. “Well—love me.” Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “Like I said, I get it and it’s fine, just because I might want that doesn’t mean I  need  it and in any case I can’t—mmph.” His sentence was abruptly cut short, as was his brain process, by the press Aziraphale’s mouth against his. 

Before he could do much more than process that Aziraphale was kissing him again, the angel pulled back, rather pink in the face himself. “I’m sorry, darling, but you were rambling.” Crowley didn’t really think he could reasonably argue with that, so he didn’t try. Then Aziraphale narrowed his eyes at Crowley, who felt himself blush because that look said more than any thousand words could. 

But Aziraphale, being Aziraphale, had to add the words too.

“Do you really think I don’t love you too?” he asked softly, leaning towards Crowley until they were nearly touching again.

Crowley threw his hands up, exasperated and embarrassed and confused all at once. “You’re an angel! You love everyone, every thing . It’s in the job description. Loving me isn’t any—it’s nothing special, angel, come on.” He stared beseechingly at Aziraphale as he spoke, hardly even knowing what he was asking, only knowing he cared about the answer more than he’d ever cared about anything else. 

Aziraphale pinched the bridge of his nose (which was practically an eye roll coming from him, Crowley noted rather desperately; dear—well, someone. He’d almost hope for God’s help at this point, honestly, if he thought he could stand to have anyone else see him like this.). “Yes, true,” Aziraphale said, after an endless moment. “But falling in love isn’t. In the job description, that is.” He took another step closer to Crowley, who wasn’t even breathing anymore. It was ridiculous, really, after all they’d already been through, but Crowley felt like his ability to exist after today was completely dependent on whatever Aziraphale did next.

They stared at each other for a long moment. Crowley had never wanted his sunglasses so much in his life, but he was rooted to the spot. (He also wasn’t entirely sure where exactly he’d put them, but that wasn’t really the point.)

Then, to Crowley’s immense surprise, Aziraphale reached out and his hands on either side of Crowley’s face, cupping it gently. “Anthony J. Crowley,” he said, his voice so warm and soft Crowley could hardly stand it, “I adore you. I’ve been in love with you for so long that I can’t remember what it feels like to  _not_ be in love with you. I love you with all of my heart and soul, and I am deeply sorry that I haven’t made that clear to you. Can you possibly forgive me?” 

Crowley’s mouth felt drier than the Sahara. He swallowed and, when that didn’t particularly help, cleared his throat. Aziraphale smiled at him, caressing one cheek lightly, and Crowley felt something inside him unclench. “I mean, there’s really nothing to forgive, angel,” he mumbled, leaning into Aziraphale’s touch like a cat. He glanced up at Aziraphale. “But, when you put it like that...” He shrugged as much as he could without dislodging the angel’s hands. “How can I not?”

Aziraphale’s smile turned positively radiant at that. “Thank you, my darling,” he said, leaning in to kiss Crowley again. Before he could make contact, however, Crowley stopped him with a finger on his lips. 

“Angel,” he said quietly. “I adore you too.”

Aziraphale blushed practically to his hairline at that. Crowley tried not to laugh, he really did, but when Aziraphale opened his mouth to speak again and all that came out was a mangled jumble of syllables, it was a lost cause. 

“Oh, hush, you,” Aziraphale finally managed, not sounding nearly as annoyed as he was clearly trying to. “I’d very much like to get back to kissing you, if you  _don’t_ mind.”

Crowley grinned. “Not at all, angel,” he said as innocently as he could. “Not at all.”


End file.
